The Prince
by notacloudinsight
Summary: "Quietly, the forgotten man leaves his post by the old oak tree. His bitter tears are not wanted here."


The Prince

**ONE**  
>~August 1978~<p>

There is a tall man in a black suit, standing at the altar in a green, sun-lit lawn. His hair is dark and slightly neater than usual, and his stature is tall and slim— something makes him appear as somehow elegant and graceful. Perhaps most defining is a wide grin that splits his face, from the glow of his slightly-crooked white teeth to the deep smile lines and dimples that materialize upon his face. He gives off the air of a man who has finally gotten what he wanted; the presence of a man who finally is a prince. He radiates confidence and beauty; today is, after all, the man's wedding day.

Everything that he has done in the past has led up to this day; of course, everything has to be absolutely _perfect_. The sky is a hazy shade of azure, laced with the slightest whiffs of the clouds overhead; not a drop of rain will spoil the light atmosphere of the wedding.

A crowd of witches and wizards wait anxiously in their white wooden chairs, some of them wondering when the ceremony will start, and others thinking about how old they are getting waiting; still more of them are fantasizing about the vast expanse of food waiting for them after the ceremony. Still, no one can deny the beauty of the floating crystal lights over their heads, or the charm of the enchanted butterflies landing ever so often upon the noses of the younger children.

The organ strikes a chord, then begins its hum, and the small crowd of guests halts their excited whispers and twist their heads to the house, craning their necks for the first glimpse of the highlight of the wedding.

A flurry of rose petals stream through the air, and then there she is. The audience immediate gasps seamlessly morph into sighs.

If the man in the black suit is a prince, then she is his princess. She outshines the man, as she should, but he doesn't mind at the slightest, for he is taken aback as well.

Her dress is white and simple; it flows lightly, shaping her small, thin frame perfectly. He never thought that she could be more beautiful than she is, but he was mistaken. The waterfall of her redred hair spills down her bare shoulders, and she takes light, poised steps towards her future. It is not the people of earth that orbit around the sun; sun follows her, and only her.

_Breathtaking, beautiful, vivacious._ Lily Evans was the epitome of those descriptions, and so much more. Her smile alone could break every man's heart in a millisecond, knowing that this woman is not his... She would never be his...

**TWO**  
>And it is now, with this thought, that the scene is changing. The future that he thought that existed—the future that he wished for, hoped for, dreamed<em> of—<em> it's gone, gone, gone, evaporating with a _poof_ into the clouds above. The once-empty, thin clouds grow, filling and shaking with the weight of water; and the azure sky of the wedding melts into a slate gray.

The story no longer focuses upon the engaged couple at the altar, but instead on a man with unkempt, somewhat dirty hair. He's standing next to an old oak tree, watching the ceremony from afar. His long tattered robes do not fit in with the guests at the wedding, for he is not dressed up with any fancy attire.

It was not only the clothing, however, that made Severus Snape different. He wasn't here to see the happy union of James Potter and Lily Evans. He was only here for her.

He remembers receiving the invitation in the mail. He remembers the despair that threatened to overwhelm him. And he remembers some semblance of hope, after realizing that perhaps the elaborate, heavy-papered invitation didn't mean an end. All he needed to do was try.

He did try; God knew, he tried _so damn hard_...

**THREE**  
>~June 1978~<p>

The vision changes yet again, this time the transition turbulent, sudden, and rocky.

Eyes on the street of this upscale London shopping plaza follow the odd young man as he marches down the cracked sidewalks, his long legs making huge strides. His shabby robes billow behind him.

_Stay calm, be reasonable. _That's what he was striving for. Severus knows that he could not behave as a raving madman and expect to be taken seriously. And that's what he wanted, wasn't it? To be taken seriously, for once? Inhaling sharply, Severus stops before a wedding dress boutique (some silly muggle place called _Bibbity, bobbity, boo! A magical boutique for you!_). He wouldn't normally come within a ten mile radius of such a place, but this is for Lily. Lily has a way of making him do things he _normally_ wouldn't.

Twinkly bells ring as he pushes the door open, and his eyes are assaulted by a flurry of pink. He would never imagine Lily being here; in his opinion, pink rather clashes with the scarlet of her hair. Overcoming the initial shock, Severus is able to spot her holding up a frilly rose dress in the back center of the boutique, surrounded by her mother and sister. Deciding that he has nothing to lose, Severus makes his way over to her before he can lose his confidence.

"Lily... Can I speak with you?" He ignores the death stares of both Mrs. Evans and Petunia (who is probably only there because her mother forced her to.)

Looking surprised, (and is that relief on her face?) Lily nods wordlessly and shoves the offending red dress towards her family. "Um... of course we can, Sev." She's drinking him in, just like he is doing to her. It has been months since they last saw each other, and every doubt that Severus has had about her goes straight out the window. She is Lily, and she is perfect.

He leads her out of the shop, and they sit on a worn bench, near a dirty fountain that's running dry. "So," says Lily, looking up at him , her eyes shining. "I take it you've got my invitation, then?"

Severus's throat is dry. "Yes, I did. And I'm here—"

"To convince me against it, is that right?" She completes his sentence with such fluidity, a knowing smile on her lips. Back when they were children, it was something that she loved to do; something that he would always pretend to get mad at. Some things, he supposed, never changed.

But then again, some things did.

**FOUR**  
>~March 1970~<p>

_"I never want to get married, Sev," says Lily Evans, pushing a dirt mound together with her small hands. The children are making a castle, but the dirt they were using wasn't very moist, and it was not working out quite the way they wanted it to._

_"Why are we—" Severus started._

_"Talking about this?" A smile twisted onto her lips, taking in the Snape boy's slightly frustrated, mostly amused face. "I dunno, I was just thinking... a castle needs to have a princess, right? And the princess always marries a prince."_

_Prince, Severus knows, is his mother's maiden name._

_"What's so wrong with that?" he inquires. He imagines her in a simple white dress, and rose petals streaming through the air._

_Lily blushes. "Nothing, I guess. Boys are just gross." She hurriedly adds, "But if there was someone I would want to marry, it would be you."_

_She continues chattering about their dirt castle, and how they're going to need a shovel for the moat. But all he can think about is the blush on her cheeks and the sparkle of her eyes._

**FIVE**  
>~April 1978~<p>

Severus stutters, trying to say the right thing. Does she remember what she said, all those years ago?

But the only thing he can come up with is, "You're... too young. You're only eighteen. How are you supposed to know what you want when you're only eighteen?" _And that should be me, and I should be the one holding you in my arms... Can you honestly say that you will be happy?_ The words are on the tip of his tongue, but he is not heartless enough (or not brave enough) not to say it.

Lily's eyes fire up, but instead of telling him off, she says simply, "I know what I want, Sev. I love James."

It's something he knew all along, but to hear it come so steadily from her lips tortures him more than the Cruciatus Curse. His eyes must have betrayed his emotions, because her features soften, and she adds, "I love him, Sev. Don't worry about me so much."

All of his careful planning, and all his cleverly-crafted retorts, are slipping quickly out of his mind, and he cannot force them out of his throat fast enough. Having nothing left to say, he holds out his arms. Lily understands, and steps into them, her arms encircling his torso. "Oh, Sev," she sighs. "We've changed so much, haven't we?"

"You've got that right," Severus manages to mutter, closing his eyes.

He holds her in his arms, breathing in the sweet, sweet smell of her shampoo, but there is no happiness in this hollow victory.

**SIX**  
>~August 1978~<p>

_"Do you, Lily Evans, take James Potter..."_

He's found himself back here, back at the wedding, although he swore to himself that he wouldn't come. Severus has got to learn how to say no to her— and he will. One day. Just not when she begs him so nicely.

Severus is here for _her_, and for her only. He could say that he loves her more than Potter does; could pretend and say that he will make her happier than the other man could ever do. But Severus _does_ love her, and he knows that he cannot lie. He wants Lily to be happy, and James can provide that for her.

It still doesn't mean that it doesn't tear him apart.

The young man shakes his head slightly, closing his eyes fervently. No one notices his pain._No, no, no... Please say no._ Though he knows that she's going to say—

"Yes. Yes, yes!" Her decision echoes and bounces, trapped in the confines of Severus's mind. Lily's laughter, which once brought light to his day, shatters everything.

**SEVEN**  
>The tall groom kisses her and the people at the wedding erupt in cheers. Rose petals and confetti once again stream through the air, like it's some sort of fairytale. She smiles brilliantly at him, and he kisses her once again on her pretty pink lips. Her rosy cheeks blush as the guests clap. <em>"This is a new beginning for them,"<em> they whisper. _"Oh, to be young and in love!"_

If someone knew he was there, perhaps that person would have noticed the stray tear that was dripping down his cheek.

If someone cared enough to ask, perhaps that person would have asked, "Why are you crying?"

If that had happened, Severus would have replied, "It's because I'm happy for her." It wouldn't have been a complete lie.

Quietly, the forgotten man leaves his post by the old oak tree. His bitter tears are not wanted here.

**EIGHT**  
>~December 1980~<p>

The room Severus is in is dark, with the only light coming from the dying embers of a once strong fire. He sits in an uncomfortable armchair, a small piece of worn parchment in his hands. It is cold outside, but the man pays no heed to it, too lost in his thoughts to feel the temperature.

The burned edges of the invitation leave everything unreadable except for one small portion:

_...and I miss you a lot. You're always going to be a part of me, Sev, and you mean so much to me... I hope you can come to the wedding. I need my best friend._

_Love always,  
>Lily<em>

Severus usually tries not to be sentimental— he had vowed never to set his eyes upon the offending invitation again. (But when it comes to Lily, things are easily changed.) He hadn't seen her since the day she chose her path— and it's for the best. She deserves so much better than an unwanted man with nothing to his name; a man with nowhere to turn except into the arms of a welcoming dark power.

He knew the pain he was putting himself in. And he quietly accepted it.

Without warning, someone (or is it some _thing?_) apparated into Severus's shabby flat. Although the potions master is startled, he does not convey it. Nonchalantly, he folds the burned scrap and tucks it into his long black robes.

Bowing his head low, Severus stands swiftly and greets his visitor. "My Lord. What pleasure brings you here, to my home?" He offers the Dark Lord a seat, which the man takes without comment.

The not-quite-human eyes flit around, finally focusing onto Severus's eyes. He watches in an almost curious manner. Instead of answering to the Death Eater's inquiry, he, in turn asks another: "What thoughts... trouble you, Severus?" The Dark Lord's hiss has an unreadable tilt to it; is it, perhaps, a quality that is found in mocking laughter?

Severus closes his eyes. _Don't let him in, don't let him know, don't let him see..._ For he is the master of the art of Occlumency, the prince of his own realm of dreams, and he is not going to let anyone— even the one who he both fears and admires the most— take what is his. Lily Evans has been taken from him by Potter. He is not going to lose her to anyone else.

Fixing the Dark Lord with a level, unwavering stare, the prince says, "Nothing, my Lord." What is more embarrassing than a prince without a princess? A prince who has given up his love to another? Conceding defeat to the enemy would not look strong in the Dark Lord's eyes, especially something that displays a weakness such as silly _love._

Unsatisfied with his servant's answer, the Dark Lord inclines his pale head and continues to gaze into Severus's onyx eyes. "Is that so?" He can detect that he is hiding something, but the dark-haired young man is pleased to know that he cannot tell exactly what.

"Yes, my Lord." He pauses, leaving the words hanging in the tense air. "Nothing."

Because these dreams, these hopes, these memories were his— they were his alone to drown in. 

**END**


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